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Updated: June 26, 2025
Mortimer Fenley had been afraid of fire; there was so much old woodwork in the building that it would burn readily, and a short circuit in the electrical installation was always possible, though every device had been adopted to render it not only improbable but harmless.
Its existence had annoyed Mortimer Fenley as long as she could remember anything. That friendly little nod encouraged Trenholme. His voice came under better control, and he contrived to smile. "I was told it was a bone of contention," he said, "but that didn't trouble me a bit, since the right of way opened the forbidden area. I meant no disturbance or intrusion.
The prophet Balaam was not more taken aback when rebuked by his ass than Robert Fenley when Furneaux turned and rent him in this fashion. Hitherto the detective's manner had been mildness itself, so this change of front was all the more staggering. "Oh, I say!" came the blustering protest. "I don't allow any of you fellows to talk to me like that.
Now, if this coffee isn't doctored, let's drink it, and interview Robert before the bromide begins to act." Robert Fenley received them in his own room. He strove to appear at ease and business-like, but, as Furneaux had surmised, was emphatic in his refusal to give any clear statement as to his proceedings in London.
Philip. St. Fenley John, bookseller, St. St. Ferris John, tailor, Bath. Godwin John, wire-worker, St. Thomas. Griffin John, shipwright, St. Michael. Grimes John, silk-weaver, St. James. George John, stone-cutter, St. James. Green William, mariner, Bedminster. Hughes Benjamin, blacksmith, St. Philip. Hobbs James, mason. St. James. Hobbs William, mason, St. Philip. Haycock William, tailor, St.
"If I had the luck of a decent French poodle, this plutocrat Fenley would eke have invited me to lunch," he grumbled. Then his eyes sought the sketch, and he forgot the girl in her counterfeit. By Jove, this would be a picture! "The Water Nymphs."
He was well aware of the reputation attached to Robert Fenley, the banker's younger son, who differed from his brother in every essential. Hilton was steady-going, business-like, his father's secretary and right hand in affairs, both in the bank and in matters affecting the estate. Robert, almost unmanageable as a youth, had grown into an exceedingly rapid young man about town.
She lifted her eyes from that terrifying object when her son entered with Hilton Fenley. "Oh, Bob!" she wailed. "They've killed your father! Why did you let them do it?" Even in the agony of the moment the distraught young man was aware that his mother was in no fit state to appear thus openly. "Mother," he said roughly, "you oughtn't to be here, you know. Do go to your room with Sylvia.
About half past eleven, Sylvia Manning, sitting in melancholy near her window after an hour of musing, heard a light tap on the door. "Come in," she said, recognizing the reason of this late intrusion. An elderly woman entered. She was an attendant charged with special care of Mrs. Fenley.
Should Fenley seem to leave London by the Edgware Road, which leads to Roxton, have him checked on the way. Here is the number of his cycle," and Winter jotted a memorandum on the back of an envelope. "What about Mr. Furneaux if I am called out almost immediately?" "Give the message to Johnston."
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